Disclaimers: From here
on out, there'll be bad language, same-sex involvement, rape and other violence.
There's lots of blood and a good bit of nastiness, not all of it as just
as we would like. Callisto tends to do that to a story.

Chapter 30

Do you not see
how necessary a world of pains and trouble is to school an intelligence and
make it a soul?

John Keats

"You stupid bastard!"

With a sodden thud, the body
of the spymaster Autolycus struck the cold, stone wall of his own command room.
He struggled to right himself, to defend himself against the next blow, but
after the beating he had taken already, his limbs refused to answer him quickly
or completely. He barely made it to his knees. In the harsh glare of the torches,
he saw that none of the dozen Guards lining the room moved a muscle to help
him, but he forced his swollen, bloodied mouth to form words.

"Conqueror, I swear "

"Swear nothing else to me," Xena
snarled, gathering him again with iron hands and jerking him up to and then
off his feet, to dangle from the impressive strength of her biceps. "You swore
this symposium would be safe. You swore there was nothing to worry about.
You swore taking only a light guard and allowing Gabrielle and Leandra
to accompany me would be just fine!"

She tossed him backward again,
and the Guards moved briskly out of the way so that he hit the stone wall with
one already dislocated shoulder. With a cry, he collapsed to the floor, unable
to hold himself upright. She followed, punctuating each furious question with
a drop kick to some exposed area of his body.

"How much was she paying you,
you double-crossing fuck? Was it enough? How do you like being in her pay now,
King of Spies? She's not here to protect you, is she?"

He curled feebly into a ball
and tried to protect his head with bloodied, broken hands. "I didn't do it.
I wouldn't betray you." He screamed as she broke a rib in his back with the
toe of her boot. "I wouldn't hurt the girls!"

The kicks stopped.

In the still moment of waiting,
he felt everything bleeding. The pain had, for an instant, been numbed, but
he knew that when it returned he might not be able to stay conscious. It was
so important that he reach her in this moment and he repeated the statement
had halted her blows.

"I would never hurt Gabrielle
or Leandra. Never."

Other feet retreated in orderly,
lock-step march, but he didn't dare unfold himself. He lay there, sobbing, over
and over, "Never. I wouldn't hurt her never."

"How did Callisto get in there,
Autolycus?"

The voice was bitter, cold, but
not murderous, at least not toward him. Cautiously, slowly, the spy released
his death grip on his head and loosed his long held tuck. When no blow came,
he raised his head to look at the Conqueror.

The regal Empress of the World
who'd departed for Davidicus' symposium in silk and jewels mere hours before
had vanished like a pleasure dream. Autolycus didn't know when or where she'd
changed clothes between the ruined dinner party and the palace; she had simply
appeared, a nightmare in black leather and latticed steel, and begun beating
the Tartarus out of him.

Xena stood now with her back
to him, arms folded, staring with preternatural intensity at one of the wall
maps of the Corinthian sewers and cisterns. Her stance, swelling the broad shoulders
under their black leather half-armor, made her appear even bigger, even more
dangerous, but Autolycus felt a tiny release from fear. She would have killed
him already if that was her desire, but something, something had halted her,
changed her mind, and he knew with a moments clarity that it was the mention
of Gabrielle's name.

She swiveled abruptly, her azure
gaze locking him to the wall he'd just managed to get propped up against.

"Tell me," she ordered. "If you
want me to believe you didn't plan it, didn't help her, then tell me how she
managed to get into that house, past all the guards in the city, kill my men
and take what's mine?"

Autolycus raised his head, amazed
at how clear it became now that the Conqueror had stopped pounding on it. He
worked up moisture and spat, unsurprised by the fragments of tooth that came
out with it.

"She's been here," he reasoned.
"She didn't need to break in tonight. She's been living, unnoticed, in the city
for some time."

He drew up his hand, slowly,
carefully, aware quick movement could still be his death, and wiped a trickled
of blood from his mouth and nose. Xena watched him, emotionless, waiting for
the rest of his explanation.

"She had other contacts," he
continued. "Darphus wasn't the only one; in fact, he may have been pretty minor
in the scheme of things. And he certainly didn't know about the rest of her
operatives."

The Conqueror nodded, looking
away for the first time, and the former thief took the opportunity to try to
straighten himself more. He knew his legs wouldn't hold him yet, but the pain
kept him alert and alertness seemed the only thing that could save his life
right now, so he continued carefully.

"Davidicus had to have been in
on things. And his household. We hadn't heard even a rumor of impropriety from
him. We should be able to get some details out of him or one of his servants."

"Davidicus didn't survive to
be questioned," Xena said curtly. "Most of his servants fled. The Guard's out
rounding them up."

Autolycus swiped irritably at
a scalp wound that kept dribbling blood into his eyes. "There are reports of
six different trails leaving Corinth," he muttered. "It's going to take a while
to track down the false leads."

He nodded, then wished he hadn't
as the nausea rose. "As soon as word reached the Palace. I sent riders to Athens
and Thebes, but it seems to me that they'll head for Argos or some other port.
If they're heading for Rome "

"They aren't," the decisive voice
cut over his theorizing.

"I-- um-- I would think they'd
want those Roman legions at their back," he said hesitantly.

"No."

She rose and went to the door.
Orders were issued and one of her Guards went off at a run, but the exhausted
Master Spy simply took the moment to rest his chin against his chest and try
to get some control over the building pain. It hurt to breathe and now it was
beginning to hurt to think as well.

"I've sent for a healer," the
Conqueror said, returning.

She bent and more than half lifted
Autolycus to his feet, taking care not to grasp his dislocated shoulder, then
steadied him as he swayed. With her support, he made it to the desk where he
leaned upright. The chair had been shattered-- over his back, if he remembered
correctly-- when she'd stormed into his office nearly a candlemark ago, screaming
that he'd betrayed her and Gabrielle and Leandra had been kidnapped.

Now, she leaned silently beside
him, eyes fixed on the facing wall.

"Why not Rome?" he asked, genuinely
curious.

"I don't know," Xena admitted.
"My gut just tells me that she isn't headed to Rome, that she isn't even committed
to Rome's cause. That was Darphus' little ploy, I'd bet, and Callisto used them
because they provided a convenient distraction." She shook her head. "Callisto's
headed east-- toward Cirra, probably. Her old stomping grounds, where she may
have some local followers left from her last attempt to unseat me."

"You can't be sure "

"No. Nothing's sure with that
lunatic. I'll wait 'til morning to see what reports come in, but I'm mobilizing
everything east of here as soon as I can get pigeons out in the morning."

She turned icy eyes to him and
he felt himself quail. The death written in those eyes could be his own or anyone's,
but he thought that she didn't care who had to die as long as she got what she
wanted, Callisto. The Destroyer of Nations walked abroad again.

"Our command communications have
been breached somewhere," she told him bluntly. "Darphus has been dead too long
to know about tonight's details, and Callisto knew too much about too many other
things. If you're not the breach, then someone else in the senior officers is.
Theo is dead and Palaemon is upstairs with a wound from sternum to spine. I
saw Palaemon fighting-- he wasn't faking to keep his position a secret. In your
opinion, who in the upper ranks would have betrayed us?"

Autolycus frowned. "Depending
on what she knew, it wouldn't necessarily have to be an upper ranking officer,"
he reminded her.

"She knew both Leandra and Gabrielle
on sight," the Conqueror revealed almost grudgingly, "and she knew that they
were both important to me."

"It wouldn't take long in the
city to know that," Autolycus almost laughed, but caught himself as that murderous
expression came over Xena's face once more. "Conqueror, please " He held
up a hand, trying to placate. "Everyone in the marketplace knows Gabrielle,
and Leandra often accompanies her into town. The guards you assigned would be
notice enough that the two of them were not ordinary Palace staff. People notice
things and talk amongst themselves." He frowned slightly, "And you must know
that your-- um-- excursion to the theatre the other night was pretty common
knowledge."

The Conqueror straightened from
the desk and paced away to the innocuous wall map again. She felt odd-- shaky
with adrenaline from the events of the nightand it wasnt a feeling
she was used to. The rages, usually her familiar companion, felt appallingly
alien to her, like a being outside herself. Inwardly, she felt only anguishguilt
and desolation at the capture of the two young women with whom she had been
so intimate.

With some effort, she forced
her brain to think strategically, emotionlessly. What Autolycus was saying was
correct; she had, through her attempts to keep them safe, marked Gabrielle and
Leandra as targets. She had, as Callisto had taunted her, cared for them and
that alone was enough to put them in danger. Her fury, then, ought to be directed
at no one but herself.

Like acid, the familiar self-hatred
burned through her veins. Lyceus, Mlila, Borias, Solanshe was death
to those she loved. When would she learn that lesson? How many more loved ones
had to die?

Enough! Wallowing in it won't
save them, a colder, harsher voice in her psyche broke in. You know what
has to be done. Do it.

"Callisto came into myImperial
city, Autolycus," Xena stated flatly, trying to bleed the renewed anger into
focusthe focus shed need to find Callisto and send her to Tartarus
where she belonged. "She suborned my citizens and my own Imperial Guard to aid
her. She infiltrated a symposium that my security chief and my secret police
chief had both declared without danger. She killed my Captain of the Guard and
my guests." Looking over her shoulder at the spy, she stated the final and most
serious of the charges. "And as if that wasnt enough, she stole my secretary
and my bedslave to use as hostages." She turned to him fully. "I'm going after
her and this time, I will make sure that she stays dead."

"Conqueror," he said carefully,
"theres no need for you to go after Callisto. The Guard and my men can "

"Can find her? Capture her? Handle
this?" Xena gave him a scorchingly sardonic look. "Youve done such a fine
job up 'til now, Autolycus. Your men couldnt find their dicks in the dark."

He nodded, accepting the criticism.
"We should have done better with Darphus, but Callisto She was supposed
to be dead. Were only human, Conqueror."

"So is she!" Xena shot back.
"She could and should have been caught before now." She threw up a disgusted
hand, changing the course of the conversation. "This isnt a matter for
discussion. By the third hour past dawn tomorrow, Im moving out after
her, whether we know for sure which trail is the true one or not."

"Ill come with you."

"No," Xena clenched her fists,
aware that she had to do something that every overstrained nerve in her body
screamed was the wrong thing to do. "I need someone here," she gritted out.
"We dont know how many rebels Callisto left behind to make the pursuit
more difficult, and we dont want to lose what weve gained here in
Western Greece. Corinth must be kept peaceful and under control and for that
I need an administrator. Someone I can trust."

Autolycus eyebrows, had
they not been beaten into insensibility, would have shot up. "Me?"

Xena shot him a look, then grudgingly
nodded. "But be aware, King of Spies, if I find any evidence that youve
betrayed me, Ill be back for you in a heartbeat."

He gulped, audibly. "Nno,
Conqueror, believe me "

"Ill have to, wont
I?" she snapped, cutting off his protestations.

A slight pause followed as both
tried to feel good about the turn events were taking. For Autolycus, it meant
assuming responsibilities for which he had no preparation, no training, and
assuming them under the clear threat of violence should he fail. For Xena, it
meant giving up the most precious of her hard-won goals: total control. She
was trusting someone to guard her back who, at the very least, had just failed
miserably at that same position. It didnt feel comfortable, but she knew
it was a necessity.

"Look," she plunged ahead, aware
that she was in the middle of one of those huge turning points that life offered
periodically, but aware also that her choices were severely limited. "The information
lines have obviously been compromised. All the precautions we took after Darphus
little scheme have failed. Callisto knew too much about my schedule, my security,
my personal life. I want you to establish some way for us to communicatebirds,
riders, whateverthat bypasses the normal routes and remains completely
secure."

"I understand."

"No, Im serious here,"
she forced him to meet her eyes. "Handle this yourself, Autolycus. I want to
know that youre the only one receiving the messagesand the only
one sending them."

"I can do that," the Spy Master
drew himself as upright as his aching body would allow. "Ill send birds
with you and Ill take over the receiving myself."

"Next, I want those two buffoons,
Garnon and Marstevius, rounded up. Darphus may not have confided in them any
further, but I want them leaned on hard. Put the fear of the gods in them and
see what they suddenly recall."

He nodded to show he was getting
all the instructions and she returned it abruptly.

"And find out what the hold up
is with the arrest of those Romans. We should have received confirmation of
orders by now."

"Thy will, Conqueror."

A bustle of footsteps in the
hallway signaled the arrival of the healer and Xena used it as an excuse to
escape the stifling, blood-soaked room. Her decision was made, but the implications
of her choice had yet to play themselves out. It made for a tremendously uncomfortable
situation, worsened by her nagging fear for Gabrielle and Leandra. Shaking off
the crowding forebodings, she made her way to the chamber where the Guard and
healers had carried Palaemon.

Wan Li had just finished re-bandaging
the Security Chiefs wound and stood looking at his patient consideringly
when Xena entered.

"Hows he doing?" the Conqueror
asked.

Wan Li wiped his bloodied hands
with a rag. "He'll be fine. It actually looked worse than it was. Its
an unusually long wound, but the slice didnt penetrate. The blade must
have caught on a rib. Its to the bone, but it didnt compromise the
chest cavity."

"Stop talking about me as if
Im not here," Palaemon protested weakly.

Xena stepped forward to his side.
"I thought you were still unconscious," she explained. "He says youll
be fine."

"He ought to let me up," Palaemon
argued groggily, still stunned by the herbed smoke Wan Li had used to anesthetize
him. "We need to get on this before that maniacal bitch can get them too far
away."

"Im next in line for Captain,"
Palaemon countered. "You promised me a promotion."

"Fuck your ambition, Palaemon,"
Xena snarled, but their eyes spoke to one another and she knew that it wasnt
ambition speaking from her trusted officer. "Im not promoting you tonight.
Im not promoting anyone. Im going after Callisto just as soon as
we get the false trails run down."

Palaemon made a valiant effort
to heave himself upright on the pallet. "Im going with you."

"You are not."

Wan Li put a restraining hand
on the younger mans shoulder. "Dont tear the stitches out or youll
have an even smaller chance of getting her to agree."

"No, Gabrielle," he corrected
her. "Just because she said not to, dont think thats really how
she feels. She knows youll come for her. And I'm coming with you."

"Just shut up and lay there,
Palaemon," Xena raised an imperious finger to silence him as he opened his mouth
to protest. "Ive had enough conflict for one evening."

Back in her chambers, the Conqueror
struggled with her own traitorous concentration. She would need all her many
skills to track Callisto, but she couldn't keep her thoughts on the struggle
before her. Over and over, she saw Gabrielle in the painful embrace of Callisto's
Second. Like a dagger in the gut, the image burned through her, leaving a wake
of acidic fear behind it.

I should never have allowed
her to go! Xena cursed herself. If I hadn't given in to her wheedling
about Leandra this would never have happened. Blindly, Xena struck out,
knocking a rack of quills from her desk with a satisfying clatter.

Enough with the dramatics,
her conscience berated her. Be honest.She didn't even have to wheedle.
One look at that tear-stained face and you were putty in her hands.

With a sigh, the Conqueror threw
herself down in her chair once more. She leaned forward, elbows on the chair
arms, cradling her head in her hands.

What am I going to do?
She asked herself. I love her and Callisto has her hostage.

Her inner voice sighed impatiently,
Then get her back.

Leaning back, she turned her
thoughts toward doing just that.

________________________________________________________________

A particularly sickening lurch
jolted Gabrielle awake and she lay for a long moment fighting panic and claustrophobia
in the pitch-blackness of the enclosed wagon. Her sleep, not deep enough to
be restful, had been full of the creaking and groaning of the vehicle and the
images of terror and dismay from the fight she had witnessed, but, above all
else, Xenas furious, agonized eyes had haunted her uneasy dreams. The
bard nearly cried again at the memory of that last glimpse of the Conqueror,
sword at the ready, but feet frozen in place by the threat of violence to her
friend and her slave.

Firmly held by Callistos
minions, Gabrielle and Leandra had been dragged back through the private quarters
of Davidicus mansion to the kitchens entrance and, having been swiftly,
but tightly, bound, they were thrust into the rough wooden box of an Imperial
paymasters wagon.

"Dont try calling out,"
the chief guard had warned. "Well kill you if you do."

Dark, dirty, and depressingly
sacrosanct, Gabrielle had to admit the wagon was a perfect choice for the kidnappers.
No one in his right mind would attack the Conquerors gold. The irony of
it all wasnt lost on the bard. Callisto and her co-conspirators had proven
quite adept at turning Xenas reputation and the fear it engendered to
their advantage. The guards riding with the wagon wore Imperial surcoats and
flew Xenas guidon, making them highly visible, yet completely unnoticed.
Imperial paymasters and their troops moved constantly and anonymously through
the Empire, and commanders of other squads or cohorts would never think to stop
or question a pay shipment. They would be hiding in plain sight.

Another thudding pitch as the
vehicle rolled over some obstacle and Leandra, awake now, whimpered, "Xena."

Gabrielle reached out with her
bound hands and touched the slaves back. How odd the silk dress felt in
these uncivilized conditions. "Im here, Leandra."

"Gabrielle," Leandras voice
held both relief and renewed fear. She rolled to face the bard, even though
they couldnt see one another in the stygian interior. "Where do you think
theyre taking us?"

"I dont know," Gabrielle
answered, worried. "I cant hear them talking over the noise of the axle
and we havent stopped, even to rest the horses."

"Do you think Xena will find
us?" Leandras question came hesitantly.

"Of course," Gabrielle awkwardly
patted the other woman with her joined wrists. "Its only a matter of time
before she comes for us."

The immediacy of her response
seemed to calm Leandra, but Gabrielle found herself not so reassured. Callistos
troops had moved so quickly and confidently through their plans. The Imperial
secretary, now familiar with the gait of soldiers with explicit orders, saw
just such purposefulness in the steps of the rebels. As theyd secured
her hands, shed looked around and seen the groups leaving Davidicus
back courtyard, each setting off in a different direction and with a different
bearing. Some had shouted and run; others had moved stealthily through the screen
of hedges surrounding the mansion. In the confusion, the fake payroll company
would go unremarked, while Xenas troops and the Corinthian Guard sought
to track down all the more obviously fleeing groups. It looked to be a long,
frustrating search.

Poor Xena, the bard thought,
with an unconscious sigh. The Conqueror had stood at bay, like a lion encircled
by jackals, but the dual hostages had forced her to surrender at last. Gabrielle
wondered if anyone else had seen the anguish that underlay the anger in the
Empresss cerulean eyes. Shell blame herself, Gabrielle knew
with almost instinctive insight. Shell see this whole incident as her
failure to protect us. It would make the Conqueror extremely well focused
on finding them, but the guilt, Gabrielle realized, would be eating the monarch
up inside.

Moving her bound hands to her
breast, Gabrielle located the tourmaline necklace Xena had given her on the
night of the play. The delicate chain had held despite the rough treatment its
owner had received and the bard sent up a tiny prayer of thanks giving. Let
her be all right, she added to the prayer. Let her know that she did
the best she could to protect us.

Somehow, concentrating on Xenas
emotional response combated the fear the bard felt for her ownand Leandraslife.
Gabrielle had never thought of herself as courageous, but she comprehended on
some gut level that if she gave in to the terror and anxiety surrounding her
now, she might not survive this ordeal. Callistos impact on her life already
had been so serious and so profound that in her mind Gabrielle had transformed
the warrior into some sort of force of fate or the gods. Perdicus death
at the hands of that force had altered everything, had changed every path Gabrielle
had ever contemplated for her life. She hoped against hope that Callisto's interference
wouldn't change her life that profoundly again.

Xena will come for us,
she repeated to herself calmingly, fingering the necklace like a prayer bead.
Shes a hero and shell rescue us.

______________________________________________________________

The Conqueror must have slept,
at least for a small interval, because she awoke, cramped and stiff in her chair.
Never a slow waker, never one to awaken disoriented or confused, the entire
weight of the previous night settled back onto Xenas shoulders before
her eyes even opened. Callistos mad laughter echoed in her ears, but all
her inner vision could see was twin pairs of green eyes turned to her, both
terrified and beseeching, but Gabrielles also filled with boundless trust
in Xenas ability to save them both.

The question was, could she?
Callisto had had help, lots of help, and seven distinct trails that led away
from Corinth. In the time it took to run the dead ends down, Callisto would
be drawing further and further away, carrying with her the lives of two women
Xena found herself forced to admit she loved, though in vastly different ways.

She had worked so long and so
hard to be without emotion, to care for no one and nothing beyond her own destiny,
that she still felt some level of self-disgust when she acknowledged the feelings
she had for others. Leandra was a case in point. When had the Destroyer of Nations
ever given a moments thought to the welfare or well-being of a pleasure
slave? As long as her slaves performed their duties when she wanted and didnt
get in the Conquerors way the rest of the time, she didnt let their
existence even register, let alone affect her decision-making. Leandra would
have been the same if she had come along earlier in the Conquerors life.

If she had come along before
Gabrielle, Xena corrected herself pointedly.

Now, Xena found herself worrying
about the young slaves safety. Leandra was the most expendable of Callistos
hostages, Xena reasoned, probably taken to insure that the correct blonde was
captured. Darphus last legacy, the Conqueror realized bitterly. Hed
passed his hatred of Gabrielle on to the madwoman who was his commander. Leandra
was only a target because she resembled the bard so strongly.

You probably wouldnt
have taken her for your bed if she hadnt looked like Gabrielle, Xena
admitted to herself. How blind can one woman be?Since the moment
you saw Gabrielle in that vision, you have been fascinated with her. She entered
your supposedly nonexistent heart as if she held the only key to the door, and
you never realized it? You must have been the only one. And now they're both
being punished for the friendship and affection they offered me, Xena thought
with a returning anger.

Callisto knew just how precious
her captives were. Shed said herself that shed had the opportunity
to kill Xena outright, but shed chosen instead to take the young women.
She knew she could use them to lead Xena along whatever path of Tartarus she
had planned for the Warrior Princess. The Conqueror had no choice but to follow;
she couldnt abandon either woman to the torments, physical or psychological,
that Callisto would devise for them. And Callisto herself must be stopped; this
time, permanently.

All this mooning is getting
nothing done, barked the inner commander. The sooner you get on the trail,
the sooner you can kill that bitch and get the bard back.

With a familiar ease, Xena allowed
herself to fall back on generalship. It had gotten her through emotional morasses
before; she only hoped it could do so again. There'd be time later to worry.
Probably too much time. For now, she had to get herself and her troops on the
trail of the blonde psychopath who'd somehow managed to escape Tartarus.

Moving around the room, Xena
lit candles to push back the pre-dawn darkness and gathered the items that shed
need to take with her. Extra clothing, a back scabbard for her straight sword,
the curved Chinese falchion she used when she fought on horseback, the heavier
armor that shed need if they managed to besiege Callisto in some fortified
place, she laid all the items out on the bed for a servant to pack.

As she stood looking at them,
another thought occurred to her and she turned to the connecting door to Gabrielles
chamber. Gabrielle would need things as well, she told herself, making her way
into the bards room. Xena made her way around the room, collecting whatever
fell to hand, but lingering over other items. The scroll case with its inlaid
top would be needed; Gabrielle would want to write

Footsteps, hurrying by Gabrielle's
door, interrupted her and she stiffened, instantly on alert.

"Conqueror!" The imperative voice
came from her rooms and she turned as Iolaus, Autolycus recently appointed
Second in Command, appeared in the connecting doorway. Flushed and breathless,
he hurriedly gave his news.

"Your Majesty, weve found
the main trail and it leads east across the isthmus and north towards the main
roads to Thessaly."

A spark lit in the Conquerors
eye. East, just as I guessed.

"Call the Guards to order and
get me a servant to pack these things," she ordered crisply, nodding at his
immediately given salute.

The exhilaration of the chase
bubbled up within her and the Conqueror laughed low in her throat. Now, she
would show Callisto what it was like to be hunted, hunted for her miserable
life. The raven head tilted back as she let loose the ululating battle cry that
had struck fear into thousands on battlefields across the vast plains of the
known world.

"Run, you bitch," the Conqueror
growled to the empty room, hearing the far away sounds of soldiers automatically
responding to her battle cry. "Run while you can. But pray that in your hurry
no harm befalls those two young women," she warned her absent enemy, "because
when I catch you-- and I will catch you-- any harm you do them will cost you
tenfold before you die."

Chapter 31

See how our lives
like birds take wing

Like sparks that
fly when a fire soars

To the shore of
the god of evening.

Sophocles Oedipus
Tyrannus

"We're stopping," Leandra whispered
as the grinding of the ungreased axle slowed.

"Listen," Gabrielle cautioned.

The guards could be heard, calling
to one another, over the noise of the wagon.

Gabrielle frowned, concentrating
on the bantering tones and shouts. "No I don't think so. They're teasing
each other about the uniforms."

"Do you think they're going to
let us out?"

"I don't know," Gabrielle answered
honestly. "It's about time we were fed again."

It had been four days since the
symposium, as near as the two women could piece together, and, aside from brief
halts to change horses and give the two of them water, food and latrine moments,
the squad had not slowed their relentless pace. Callisto had disappeared and
none of the soldiers would acknowledge their questions about where they were
going or when they would be released, though Gabrielle insisted on asking each
time she and Leandra were freed for even a moment. Theodorus, Callisto's Second
in Command, was the only person Gabrielle or Leandra saw consistently, and he
merely laughed when the bard tried to get information from him.

"I hear keys," Leandra said.

The chains binding the cart were
unlocked and dragged noisily through the enclosing hoops, covering all other
sound, then the wooden top was lifted and bright sunlight blinded the captives.

"Out," ordered the deep, gravelly
voice of Theodorus and they scrambled, cramped, battered and bound, onto the
tailgate, squinting in the harsh light. Guards caught their bound arms.

"Get them into the hut and changed,"
the Second ordered.

Gabrielle noted thankfully that
the guards were female, but their hard faces and biting hands indicated no softened
vigilance.

"You heard him," one of the women
repeated as she pulled the ropes away from Leandra's wrists and thrust her into
a tiny, ill-constructed hovel at the roadside, "strip down."

Gabrielle, her hips numb from
lying in the wagon for so long, followed stumblingly after the slave. The interior,
leaking light from a partially collapsed roof, offered no indication that it
had been lived in for years. It looked like a thousand other abandoned dwellings
on the roads and byways of the Empire, emptied by war or disease or displacement.
We could be anywhere, Gabrielle thought desolately. How will Xena
find us with so few clues?

"Hurry it up," the head woman,
a large redhead with a bad scar along one cheek, barked impatiently. "You're
not performing in the Imperial bedchamber now."

Without a flinch or alteration
of expression, Leandra slipped out of the once ornate, but now tattered, gown
she had worn at Xena's behest to the dinner party. Silk worth more than all
the gold the paymasters wagon should have held slipped to the dirt floor
and the Conquerors prized bedslave stood proudly naked before the women
as if on display for her Mistresss pleasure.

Gabrielle, standing behind her,
envied Leandra her lack of embarrassment at being unclothed before these strangers.
She noted with another sort of envy the stylized X and chakram of the Imperial
seal tattooed on Leandra's left buttock. The owner's mark, she thought
with a poignant jealousy. Angered at her own unworthy thoughts, Gabrielle struggled
to disrobe.

"They're damn' near identical,"
one of the others commented, running an appraising eye over the prisoners, "'cept
that one's clumsy."

Gabrielle, furious, blushed as
she realized the guard meant her. The unfamiliar fasteners on the borrowed gown
defied her newly unbound fingers and her innate modesty made disrobing before
these witnesses even more difficult. Leandra turned and read the bard's distress.

"Let me, little sister," Leandra
said calmly, unconsciously using the familiar endearment of one slave to another.

"Aww, ain't that sweet," the
sarcastic comment came from the soldier who'd just spoken.

"Yeah, well," the leader smirked,
"They're probably used to undressing one another. Xena probably likes both of
them naked."

Gabrielle looked away from Leandra,
humiliated by her clumsiness and by the things the women were saying, but Leandra
caught her eye as she unfastened the midnight silk gown and touched the tourmaline
necklace hanging between Gabrielle's breasts. She smiled as she made sure her
body hid the necklace from the guards and winked.

Gabrielle smiled brokenly, teary-eyed
at the kindness she saw in the green eyes so like her own. Her heart lifted
with the knowledge that at least she wasn't alone.

Simple skirts, blouses, and boots
were thrown at them by one of the other soldiers, but Gabrielle watched as the
two gowns were folded and bundled into two separate messengers' satchels. What
could they be doing with Leandra and her dresses? Were they using them as a
signal to Xena that they still had the two women; or did Callisto have some
other, more sinister intent?

"Come on, blondie," Scarface
snapped her fingers. "We ain't got all day, so unless you'd like to show your
assets to the rest of the squad "

Gabrielle hurriedly tugged on
the clothing.

When they were led outside once
more, the paymaster's wagon had disappeared and the soldiers had changed clothing
as well. They looked now like a group of merchants and their guard, complete
with two laden carts. Horses waited for the two prisoners.

"Um, wait a minute," Gabrielle
held up her hands with a panicked look. "I-- I don't do horses too well."

"Tough," Scarface replied. "Learn
quick or we'll bury you under the onions on that wagon."

The bard decided the horse didn't
look that tall after all, and after a few humiliating hops, she made her way
into the high saddle, managing to stay there once she reached it.

"Move out," Theodorus ordered
and the group formed up with the carts and the two young captives in the middle.

________________________________________________________________

A sharp boot to the bottom of
his boot brought Palaemon awake and he looked up at the tall, dark figure silhouetted
against the stars.

"Majesty," he greeted unabashedly,
pressing a palm against his wounded side as he sat up.

"I told you to stay in Corinth,"
Xena commented expressionlessly.

"Yes, Conqueror." He made it,
with some effort, to his feet though she offered him no assistance. "And I told
you I was coming."

"I could execute you for insubordination."

"Or you could give me the promotion
you promised me."

She didn't react, except to look
up at the starlit heights above them.

They were three days out of Corinth,
moving along the Imperial Highway that bisected the Trachis. They had ridden
nearly 35 leagues in three days through hilly countryside and golden river valley,
following the uncertain trail of a paymaster's wagon which had been the only
unaccounted for vehicle to leave Corinth in the chaos that was being referred
to on the Corinthian streets as "Death's Dinner Party." The Conqueror's main
force was camped at the hot springs of Thermopylae this night and scouts were
searching shepherd's paths and game trails in the Kallidromos and the Trachinian
Cliffs above them for signs that the wagon had passed or been seen.

The Conqueror's fiery anger had
settled to a slow simmer that was apt to boil over at any misstep by her troops.
It didn't do to disappoint the Empress with hesitation over the reading of the
trail or the preparation of the evening's camp, and several troop members had
bruises to prove the point. Given her furious precision over every detail, Palaemon
had expected her to find him much sooner and send him packing back to Corinth.
He knew, however, that her even-more-single-minded focus on that missing wagon
and the young women believed to be in it had kept him unnoticed among her 400
swift-moving troops.

"Scouts just came in," she told
him. "The paymaster's wagon was found empty about 3 leagues north of here. The
trail continues north along that ridge right above us. They estimate it was
abandoned a day ago. There was a small hut and some muddled tracks, including
the imprints of two pairs of small bare feet."

Palaemon grunted. "So we've made
up some time."

She nodded, a gesture he sensed
rather than saw. "Still nearly a day ahead, though, and now we don't know exactly
what we're looking for."

Palaemon looked north as if he
could discern the trail in the dark at this distance. "What's in Thessaly to
aid her?"

"She's headed for Amphipolis,"
Xena said quietly, but with a surety that he didn't question.

"But you sent birds to every
outpost east of Corinth."

"Yes."

"Then why didn't she take a ship?
It's stupid to drag two hostages through the roughest parts of the country with
Imperial troops on full alert when you can steal a boat from Corinth harbor
and sail directly to Amphipolis in under a week."

"And miss all the fun of having
me trail after her like a lovesick fool?" Xena snorted inelegantly. "She's enjoying
putting me through this forced march. And I imagine I'll arrive there, only
to have her set fire to my home village and try to kill Gabrielle and Leandra
before my eyes."

"That won't happen."

"Of course not," Xena said firmly
and turned to leave. Glancing back over her shoulder, the Conqueror gave Palaemon
a carefully expressionless look. "Tomorrow, ride where I can see you, Captain
of the Guard."

She left her newly promoted Second
in Command gaping in her wake.

Chapter 32

Thou are my battle
axe and weapons of war: for with thee will I break in pieces the nations, and
with thee will I destroy kingdoms.

Jeremiah51:20

In the territory of the Scordisci
at Sirmium on the southern bank of the mighty Danube, just north of the lands
of the Triballoi of Thrace, a hunting party assembled. Vircinix of Gaul held
his huge hunter on a short rein as men and dogs swirled about him and tried
his best to look relaxed and eager. In fact, he was neither.

As he watched his host, Hannraoi,
laughing with his house guard, Vercinix calculated with almost fatalistic precision
how much longer he would have to smile and pretend and pander to the huge ego
of the chief of the Scordisci. He had reached Hannraoi's territory some three
weeks before, but, between lavish drunken feasts and the relentless round of
the hunt, the two of them had yet to sit down with the required druid attendants
and begin the work toward peace they both knew Vircinix had come to enforce.
At this rate, Vircinix might well end up wintering in the lands of the Scordisci
and that would not make his own overlord, the Conqueror, at all happy.

It was all, unfortunately, completely
inescapable. As regent of Gaul, Vercinix was also, by Imperial decree, that
most thankless of rulers, King of the Celts. Second only to the Conqueror's
in sheer size, his "kingdom" spread from the dusty plains of Iberia on the Mare
Atlanticum to the fertile west coast of the Euxine Sea. It encompassed a thriving
trade economy, an agricultural base of stunning fertility, and many tribes who
had been settled in their homelands for generations. His far-flung Celts shared
many things-- the same gods and goddesses though under many different names;
a group of similar and mutually understood languages; a style of art that sang
with beauty and vitality; a lifestyle that venerated the family and children--
but most important of all, they shared a love of raiding and war that made no
right minded Greek or Roman want them for neighbors.

That shared obsession with pushing
territorial boundaries and reaving against their neighbors' property--especially
during times of so-called peace-- had set Vircinix on his gradual way east from
Cisalpine Italy on a diplomatic progress some five moons ago. That and orders
from the Empress.

Vercinix had met his overlord
in Brixia amidst the Po Valley, one of the most settled, if not most peaceful,
areas of Celtic control. Xena still wore the laurel crown of her victory over
the rebellious Rome legions, but Vercinix knew she carried the smell of success
with her wherever she went. He'd known that the first time he'd faced her across
a battlefield, when he was Boudicca's Second, and he'd recognized the impossibility
of overcoming that gods-given skill and luck that surrounded her like a druid's
glamour. He'd been ritually cursed by the more conservative elements of the
druidic brotherhood when he'd offered an unconditional surrender after Boudicca's
death.

"Too many of my countrymen will
die and still you will take the land," hed admitted. "Id rather
live this life a while longer than take my chances in the next just yet."

His reward had been Gaul and
the Celts, a mixed blessing at the very least, and strict orders from the Conqueror
to keep the peace she had delivered with a bloody sword. She'd reiterated those
orders at their most recent meeting and had sent him eastward on the diplomatic
round to secure new promises from his princes and chieftains. The Conqueror
wanted the raiding stopped before it could erupt into outright war and she'd
given him whatever authority necessary, from imprisonment to execution to wring
agreement from the Celts.

Vercinix looked again at his
hale and hearty host. Hannraoi wore about his muscled neck a sign of the Thracian
peace-- a huge silver-gilt torc with bulls' head terminals that could only be
the work of a Thracian silversmith influenced by Scythian and Cimmerian models.
Each of the bulls wore torcs of their own, signaling that the gift was made
from one prince to another. So, with one hand he takes their peace offerings,
Vercinix reasoned, and with the other he pats the back of his raiders who return
with Thracian cattle, sheep, and slaves. It was an unfortunately common form
of Celtic statesmanship. They'd been biting the hand that fed them from the
very first.

"My huntsmen have located a lion,
my lord king," the Scordisci called across the intervening space, a feral smile
splitting the flowing moustache her wore. "How does that sound for a day's sport?"

Vercinix stiffened in his saddle,
seeing the looks that went round. Lions were protected by Imperial decree; only
the Conqueror herself hunted the lion, unless it could be proven that the beast
was endangering people or livestock. Here before all these witnesses, Hannraoi
was taunting him with treason, testing Vercinix's loyalty and his resolve to
enforce the Conqueror's law.

"Not very good sport, it sounds,"
Vercinix commented coolly, "hunting a lion from horseback with a squad of warriors
at my back. I'd much prefer the honor of hunting it as Her Majesty the Conqueror
does."

Hannraoi's smile congealed. "All
alone with a knife and a boar spear, my lord? I'm sure I'm not the first to
think our Xena has a death wish."

'Our Xena,' is it? Vercinix
thought cynically. "Let us try instead for the boar this day, Prince of the
Scordisci. I've a craving for pork and no wish to test my skills against those
of the Conqueror."

It was as subtle a rebuke and
warning as could be delivered at distance and in front of 25 Scordisci warriors,
but Vercinix saw it hit home with Hannraoi. It was only the first of many repetitions
he would probably have to make, but perhaps the matter was settled for this
day.

"Boar, it is, my lord king,"
the big man agreed, tilting his head to acknowledge the hit, and kicked his
hunter to Vercinix's side. "They abound in the eastern forest. We'll find a
king of the forest for the King of the Celts."

Amiably, Vercinix nudged his
horse to follow the Scordisci huntsmen toward the east.

Three candlemarks later, the
party had secured two boar sows and a small stag, but the boar himself had remained
elusive. Vercinix and four of his portion of the hunting party had positioned
themselves along a thin trail through a thicket of beech scrub. The beech mast
was thick on the ground and it looked as if the pigs had eaten there recently.

After a few moments, they did
indeed hear something heavy moving along the trail toward them. Dunixi grinned
and made a mocking bow before taking up his spear and settling himself in position.
Vercinix stifled his laugh and made ready as well. As king, his was the honor
of killing the beast.

The thrashing, now audible to
all, came closer and Vercinix felt the tension stretch, lengthen, attenuate.
He set the boar spear, forcing its butt against the ground and bracing it with
his foot. His men stilled themselves. For them, this would be the hardest moment.
When the boar burst from the underbrush, they must not distract it from its
target: the king would draw its charge and kill it. More lord than one had been
killed by a loyal retainer's inability to stand by and see his master charged
by a boar, but Vercinix saw that his own men had each paired with a Scordisci
and he knew that it hadn't been by chance. If Hannraoi had planned an unfortunate
hunting accident for the King of the Celts, the Gauls of the King's Guard had
other plans.

Branches on a scrub bush at the
east edge of the clearing shook and Vercinix's awareness of politics faded.
Now, it was only himself and the boar, and, if he had his way, the boar would
leave the clearing swinging from his spear shaft.

"Wait!"

It was unclear who shouted, but
the reason became immediately clear. The figure that burst through the underbrush
bore no resemblance to a boar, but he was barely recognizable as human either.
He collapsed to one knee as he passed through the resistance of the leaves into
the clearing and only a quickly outthrust hand kept him from landing on his
face. The other splayed hand clutched his side as he swayed in his crouch.

Vercinix was at his side in an
instant, his blue eyes quickly taking in the man's straight black hair and almond
shaped eyes.

"Are you all right?" The Gaul
asked, knowing already from the battle map of bruises and cuts crisscrossing
the Asian's face that the answer had to be negative.

The man murmured an answer in
some Eastern tongue, but it set him coughing and he brought up bright blood.

"Where are you wounded?" Vercinix
tried Greek since it was the Conqueror's official language and the man looked
up.

"I am Quan Po," the man rasped.
"I have a message for the Conqueror. Is she here?"

Vercinix grimaced sympathetically
at the physical effort it took the man to speak.

"No," he answered regretfully.
"She is in Corinth. You're some four hundred leagues from there."

"I-- I must " another coughing
fit wracked the overly thin frame and Vircinix saw the blood seeping from between
the fingers Quan Po had pressed to his ribcage.

"Easy," the regent spoke calmingly.
"You're going to need some rest before you can go on. Let us help you."

Quan Po shook his head and, turning,
spat another mouthful of blood onto the clearing floor. "I must see Xena. I
have an urgent message for her."

"I am Vircinix, regent of Gaul,"
the king offered. "I am one of her chief officers. I can see that a message
reaches her as quickly as possible."

A look of relief crossed the
pain-constricted visage.

"Lao Ma sent me," the messenger
gasped out. "The Conqueror must be warned. The-- the Green Dragon " His
breath faltered and, if not for Vercinix's steadying hand, he would have fallen.

With the help of two men at arms,
Vircinix lowered him to the ground, and then motioned his companions back. Quan
Po's dark eyes sought the hazel blue ones above him with desperation and Vercinix
read the knowledge of death in those eyes.

"Hold on," the king said automatically.

"She must be told," the messenger
whispered, eyes losing focus even as he said the words. "Tell Xena the Green
Dragon has grown large. He must be made small."